


a heart disease called love

by MarquisdeDiscotheque, Zsazsa4



Series: rat girl summer [7]
Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, M/M, oh we do like to be beside the sea side, the various consolations of friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:02:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27233185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarquisdeDiscotheque/pseuds/MarquisdeDiscotheque, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zsazsa4/pseuds/Zsazsa4
Summary: All good things must come to an end, as Crozier finally corners Hickey; scams are unveiled; some decisions have to be made; and restorative trips to the seaside are in order just in time for the weather to get really bad.
Relationships: Commander James Fitzjames/Sgt Solomon Tozer, Cornelius Hickey/Sgt Solomon Tozer
Series: rat girl summer [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1877806
Comments: 5
Kudos: 24





	1. Chapter 1

Fitzjames had spent the better part of the day after his ill-fated party napping, trying not to think about the mess of his bathroom, his relationship, and his friend’s arse (eight stitches and a tetanus shot later). Crozier had milled about the house too, not exactly helping, but on reflection not an uncomforting presence. His bulk in Fitzjames’ old armchair, reading or drinking or snoring, created a soothing appearance of domesticity that detracted from the horror of the upstairs bathroom. 

He knew he’d have to come to it eventually. It’d only get worse if left. But things needed doing - tidying empty bottles, tucking a throw over Francis when he began to snore, taking up the rug with a bloody footprint and contemplating shampooing it.

Finally, finally he tiptoed upstairs again. He’d not been up since the chaos of last night - he’d slept on the sofa all curled up, and then had that awful call with Solomon as Crozier listened in, frowning the whole while.

It could have been worse. He supposed. The door had a reddish smear on the frame that was distinctly reminiscent of a horror film, but the rest had gone on the tiling. And on the toilet seat. And on the glassy shower wall. God, but Irving’s bum must’ve bled. What carnage would a more medically serious incident have created?

He’d gotten out the bleach, donned his second-worst pair of trousers, and started to scrub before he noticed something in the shower. A - a wallet. John’s? No, John would never own such an ill-organised (and frankly tasteless) item. Pieces of paper were bulging out of the tattered faux-leather, so stuffed that it was almost falling apart. A keychain dangled from the wallet into the drain, and when Fitzjames fished it out it was an enamel Everton keyring.

Tozer. 

But it wasn’t Tozer’s wallet; that he’d seen. Anyway, he couldn’t believe even Tozer would own that piece of tat. He had a quick flick through just to be sure. He couldn’t bring himself to incriminate Tozer, not even now.

‘Francis!’

Crozier had panted up the stairs, despite feeling distinctly jaded, gave James a piteous look (he was still on hands and knees) and then noted the wallet in his hands. 

‘Oh, good find, James. What a stupid little bugger. What’s the address on it? Oh, damn, it’s American, is there some sort of residence permit with an address?’

‘Wait… Francis, I don’t think this ID is his.’ Fitzjames wiped a thumb over the grubby picture.

‘Name’s right, isn’t it? It looks like him, if it’s the same one as was staring at me. He’s just clean-shaven here.’ Crozier peered at it blearily. ‘No one really looks like their photo, do they now.’

‘But - he’s not American. And it says he’s six foot one here, which he certainly isn’t.’

‘Might have bumped it up out of vanity or something.’

‘Look, which one of us has had sex with him? I’m telling you, that isn’t him. It doesn’t look anything like him!’

‘What would he want to pretend to be someone else for? No, I believe you, it’s just… strange. Especially a foreign national, it wouldn’t be good for anything.’

‘Identity theft?’

‘A lot less exciting than it sounds, sadly. Usually just credit card or bank fraud.’

‘Well,’ Fitzjames put his hands in the air, ‘I defer to you on that one. Solomon did say he had a P.O. box under different initials, although he didn’t say what they were.’

‘Very useful, then. He doesn’t know the address but it’s somewhere in the Lea Valley and he doesn’t know the name but he does know it’s nothing to do with him. A fine informant you’ve got, James.’

Fitzjames grimaced. ‘He said it was near Blackhorse Lane. That’s something. He did try to help. I suppose. In a way.’

‘Christ, don’t defend the man, have some dignity! Although I admit the marigolds don’t help.’

Fitzjames looked down at himself and his rubber gloves and fought the urge to laugh, a deeply unhappy thing. ‘Well. He did try to-’ Francis’ raised eyebrow put an end to that thought. ‘Yes, all right, we’re all deeply venal and self-interested, now what do you propose we do about this development?’

‘I suppose we could go after him. Have a look. Just see if we could find this semi-mythical garage.’

Fitzjames gaped at him. ‘He stabbed someone!’

‘More out of incompetence than malice, it sounded like.’

‘Absolutely not. No. Don’t be utterly idiotic. I meant who should we call and inform about this, please impart your institutional knowledge, I wasn’t suggesting we perform a citizen’s arrest.’ James was so flustered he had gone a little pink.

Crozier sat down on the lip of the bathtub. ‘Ah, James, you’re probably right. Far be it for an old fool like me to run after our terror.’

Fitzjames sighed. ‘Thank you. You know, I’d feel very badly were anything to happen to you on my account. Promise me you won’t do anything stupid.’

Crozier smiled, gap-toothed, clapped Fitzjames on the shoulder. ‘You wouldn’t have minded me vanishing without trace into some Walthamstow den of iniquity, once.’

‘Of course I would have! I never actually wished murder or bodily harm upon you.’ 

Crozier shook his head fondly. ‘So you say, but the emails tell a different tale.’ Then, after some protestation from Fitzjames, ‘I know, I know. I’m glad of it, wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of you when you’re brandishing that toilet brush.’ He hefted himself up, and left Fitzjames to his cleaning.

Crozier had not actually made any promises; therefore, he felt only mildly guilty driving around to look for the garage later that afternoon. An hour of searching round the back of the waterworks was more than enough punishment, anyway. 

He was fairly certain he’d found the spot. He parked a few streets down, took a drink of whisky from the flask he kept in the glove box (for good luck, and for his hangover - besides, it was past noon), and began the search in earnest. 

The middle garage of the row was nothing much to look at. Same as the others, flaking paint and encrusted with moss and lichen. The first couple he tried - gently, doing his best not to rattle the handle - were locked. It dawned on him what a bloody fool’s errand this was - how was he going to get in, he certainly wasn’t going to break the door down, and how did he even know that this was the right row of garages in this bloody awful stretch of waste ground -

And then the next handle turned when he tried it. 

The fusty smell was the first impression he had of the place, like sheets left too long without cleaning, mixed with something acrid. The greasy little man crouched in one corner staring at him was his second.

‘Reckon you’ve got the wrong lock-up,’ he said, eventually. No, James was right, he wasn’t American and he wasn’t six foot anything.

‘You little bastard!’ Crozier’s eyes adjusted to the gloom and he made out a fridge, perilously wired, amidst a mess of paperwork cluttering the garage. A pile of phones. A mattress on the floor, looking sodden. Magazines of some dubious nature. It was - it was strangely like he’d seen it before.

‘Not very nice,’ Hickey said. ‘A man might think you didn’t have his best interests at heart.’

‘I don’t,’ Crozier said, ‘and you could look out for them a bit better yourself, if you are who I think you are.’

‘Who’s that, then?’ Hickey, trying for surreptitious and failing, stuffed a wad of papers into his jacket and then looked up, innocent as anything. Crozier noticed a horrible little metal bin behind him, the contents of which seemed to be gently smouldering. That explained the smell. Well, one of the smells. He wanted to put it out, but Hickey stayed firmly in place between Crozier and it.

‘You wouldn’t happen to have had a similar establishment in Lavender Hill a while ago? Where you were, say, cheating people out of their savings?’ Through some pretty inept scamming, he almost said.

‘Funny to ask a question if you know the answer,’ Hickey said. He stood up and leaned against the wall, toying with something in his pocket. He wasn’t, thank God, making quite the aggressively sexual eye contact he had the night before, but he was giving it a half-hearted go. ‘I think you’ve got something of mine I’d like back, if that’s all right with you.’

‘Why do you have that? Whose is it?’

‘Well, I met an American in some stupid Irish pub called Cornelius Hickey, he wanted to connect with his heritage or some shit like that, so I stole his wallet, which had that license in it.’

‘You could have just taken out a fraudulent loan in his name!’ 

‘He’s a foreign national, I didn’t know how to work that, did I. So I just cashed out his prepaid debit card.’

‘What did you do to him?’

‘ _Do_ to him?’ Hickey frowned. ‘I just sold him some drugs and stole his wallet, I don’t know what you’re implying. Has that Irving bloke been telling tales? What do you want here, anyway? Are you after something?’

Crozier felt as if the room were spinning. Maybe he should’ve laid off the drink last night. Maybe he shouldn’t have pursued this man to some god-forsaken garage, and definitely he should’ve told someone where he was going first. Hindsight was a beautiful thing. He sized Hickey up - he was shorter and smaller, but significantly younger. Also, he probably had a knife. Christ, he had a knife and had already stabbed one man today, if incompetently.

‘Are you after me?’

Crozier was about to reply that of fucking course he was after Hickey, when he realised that Hickey had taken his hand out of his pocket and positioned it suggestively at the waistband of his trousers. Now Crozier considered it, Hickey seemed all too keen to be caught. He looked Crozier up and down from under his eyelashes in a way that made Crozier want to shrink a little bit further into the mouldering wall behind him.

‘Yes- no-’ He tried to think of a way to reply to Hickey’s question that didn’t involve immersing himself further into the mire. 

‘And what are you going to do with me, now that you have me? Mr - Crozier, is it?’

Unfortunately, Crozier had not really thought that far. It had seemed such a good idea, before he was faced with the man. He didn’t seem to be in imminent danger of violence, but this was bad enough in a different way.

‘I’m going to call the police.’

‘Now, now, Francis,’ he chided him. ‘And how are you going to keep me here until they turn up? And how are you going to call them anyway if I decide to stop you?’

Crozier swallowed, and tried to look as bulky as possible. 

Hickey laughed and said, ‘You’re still hungover, aren’t you? I’d go a little easier on it, at your age. You and that old queen up in Highgate, you are a right pair.’

All the while Hickey was speaking - and, to be perfectly honest, Crozier was not paying much attention to the words - he’d been sidling towards the door. His pristine trainers made little squeaks as he moved. 

Crozier frowned. ‘Do you think I don’t see you moving?’

Hickey shrugged, as if to say, _and?_ He gave Crozier his best faux-innocent look - very, very faux - and did something offputtingly approximate to batting his eyelashes.

‘Look, Francis - is it Francis? Frank? No? - Anyway.’ Crozier inwardly shuddered. ‘Is there a way we could come to some sort of, say, arrangement?’

Crozier couldn’t believe his ears. ‘Arrangement?’ He shouldn’t have said it aloud. Shouldn’t have given Hickey any indication that wasn’t absolutely, entirely, clearly no.

‘You know. I don’t particularly want,’ Hickey rolled his eyes, ‘the law and that. And I’d be - appreciative - very appreciative, if they weren’t involved.’ He moved his hand again to his jeans and tilted his head. ‘How about, you do something for me, and I’ll do something for you. And I’m very good at what I do.’

‘If you’re as bad at that as you are at crime-’ Crozier almost laughed. Hickey pouted. ‘Well, Mr Hickey, I think that would be massively abusing my position. And I don’t- I’m not particularly interested either. That is to say, personally.’

Hickey looked genuinely annoyed, just for a moment, before plastering that strangely opaque smirk to his face again. ‘Yeah, you are. I know you are.’

Crozier thanked any god he could think of that he’d been too drunk at James’ party to- well. He knew, very privately, what he might’ve done had he not been properly supervised. Before he knew who Hickey was, of course. A mercy he had been too drunk. One small relief, in a life otherwise filled with substantial regret. And this would be a very, very, substantial regret indeed.

While he’d been allowing himself this small moment of relief, Hickey had been moving closer.

‘Worth a try, wasn’t it,’ Hickey said, and pushed Crozier, hard. He was surprisingly strong, for such a little man, and he caught Crozier off-balance. He toppled right over onto his bum, sending a jolt of pain up his spine. By the time it had diminished enough for him to open his eyes and crawl to his feet, Hickey and the papers he carried had gone.

The street was empty, and he stood at the garage door, rubbing at his lower back. Fuck. He’d lost Hickey - no hope of chasing after him now, not in this state. He was probably more humiliated than hurt, but the idea of having to somehow, somehow, tell his work about these events almost seemed worse than physical injury. Well. Maybe they’d give him early retirement, if he was lucky, and there was enough cash in the pension pot.

He took out his phone, and a lonely pigeon cooed from above, as if laughing at this final indignity. Then it shat and some of it went on his coat.

‘James? James, I need picking up.’ It only then occurred to him that he’d brought his own car. He leaned his head against the corrugated metal, feeling an old fool indeed. ‘Well, I need to come round for a pick-me-up.’ When he finally had the wherewithal to leave, he caught sight of a sign outside the garage: _Dangerous structure. Keep off. Asbestos sheet roof_. He wondered if he was allowed, at the very least, to wish mesothelioma on the little bastard. Probably not, but at that moment it seemed fairly well-deserved.

***

Fitzjames had waited, half-hoping, for weeks, until the idea of Tozer showing up seemed like nothing more than a dream - until Tozer, almost, seemed like nothing more than a dream. He’d received but one cryptic text a few days after the party, and after all of his calls went to voicemail he’d started to think that Tozer might be dead. Perhaps Hickey had murdered him, too, although it did occur to him that Hickey hadn’t actually murdered anyone. Yet. As far as he knew. Crozier bore these bouts of paranoia with good grace, considering, although he refused to pull any work strings to supply Tozer’s address.

‘What “database” exactly do you suggest I look at?’ Crozier had asked. ‘I doubt your boyfriend does his PAYE properly but I shouldn’t think we’ve prosecuted him for it.’

‘I don’t know, Francis, the databases! I thought that was what you did.’

Crozier had sighed and gone, ‘Even if - if - I could do that - which I can’t, James - I wouldn’t use it to stalk your boyfriend. Although he certainly isn’t declaring all of his freelance income. As he is a drug-dealer, and some might say you’re fortunate to be shot of him.’

‘If that’s your attempt to make me feel better, it’s doing a rather poor job. God, how do I not know his address? How have I never been to his flat?’ He had only the vaguest idea of where it was. 

Crozier poured James a stiff drink, which James didn’t much fancy. ‘You wouldn’t have any benzos, would you?’ he said, without much hope.

‘No,’ Crozier said. ‘Drink your gin.’

And he did.

After three weeks, he was feeling somewhat calmer. He had refilled a prescription of Valium - he suspected it involved medical malpractice but then what else was the point of corporate benefit private health insurance - and had stopped dressing entirely (well, mostly) in black. Probably Tozer had just gone off somewhere and would never talk to him again, which was of course better than him being dead but did feel more personal.

But eventually Tozer did show up, unannounced, a little shame-faced and, sadly, with almost all his hair cropped off.

Fitzjames had planned the moment in his head quite copiously, and this detail - the reality of Tozer in general - threw him entirely. His smell was the same, though. The overpowering deodorant and the hints of sweat, mingling with the smell of a building site. It overwhelmed him  
as soon as he opened his door.

‘Been a while,’ Tozer said, slouching into his coat. ‘Was going to ask if you fancied a walk.’

‘I…’ Fitzjames stuttered. He’d never been one for speechlessness before. He stared, and stared, and felt a cold wave of apprehension pass through him. Finally he managed, ‘Yes. I’ll grab my coat. I’ve-’ but he couldn’t finish the sentence, and mumbled down the hallway instead.

They stepped out into the crisp air. Fitzjames followed Tozer down the pathway, thinking that the bulk of his shoulders seemed even broader. They couldn’t possibly be broader - could they? What had he been doing? Had James just forgotten what he actually looked like, what he was in fact like?

They walked to the park in silence, which was not the comfortable silence they’d used to share. James spent every second of it silently forming words, questions - how’ve you been? _Where_ have you been? Why are you here? - and instantly thinking them too stupid, or too slight.

Then Tozer asked, ‘How are you?’ and he berated himself the more for worrying.

‘Fine, I suppose,’ he said, and then before he could continue Tozer, uncharacteristically, interrupted.

‘Look, I have something to tell you. I’m leaving London.’ They paused. ‘Well, I reckon that’s about it.’ He looked down, scuffing the toe of his grubby knock-off trainers in the dirt.

Fitzjames tried to keep his face still, to stop his mouth from falling. He knew he’d gone red, an ugly red. ‘That’s it?’

Tozer shrugged, eyes firmly fixed downwards. ‘What else do you want?’

‘I - where are you going? What are you going to do? How soon? When did you decide?’

‘To Blackpool, pretty soon. A mate got us a job in one of those old hotels.’

‘A real job?’

‘What’s that mean?’ Tozer said, sharply.

‘Well - I - I mean, if it’s about a job then I could-’ he was clutching at straws. ‘Are you so very tired of London?’ He tried to meet Tozer’s eye. 

‘Nothing keeping me here, is there.’

Fitzjames bit his lip, and moved to sit down on the bench they’d been loitering in front of. He could feel the redness intensifying, the uncomfortable heat spreading through his cheeks. Tozer sat beside him but too carefully. Their legs did not touch.

‘It’s just different, James. You have your house, you have your job, you have your life here. I’ve got, what, some casual work and some blokes to play football with.’

Fitzjames blinked very hard. ‘I didn’t know you felt so coolly about it.’

‘You know what I mean. You’ll find someone else soon enough, hey.’

‘You are - were - agh.’ He felt so absolutely stupid. He wanted to be at home, where at least it would be warm and comfortable and he would be clever and funny and in control of the situation.

Tozer put his hand on Fitzjames’ knee, which was somehow even worse, as it seemed more like the act of a weird old man than a gesture of comfort. Fitzjames desperately racked his brains for anything that would make the situation normal again, that could keep them as they had been, alleviate the discomfort. But it was coming out wrong before he’d even said it.

‘I have - I have a little flat in Hastings, I was thinking of inviting you there. If you fancied - a holiday from Blackpool. Before you went.’

‘People usually go on holiday to Blackpool,’ Tozer said. ‘Not that you’d ever consider it.’

‘Well, that depends - are you going on your own or are you inviting your friend up?’ James snapped.

Tozer looked shifty. ‘Might. Can’t say. And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention it to anyone.’

‘Oh, for God’s sake. Really? You’re really going to some godawful falling down hotel in Blackpool with him rather than -’ James stopped himself. He had not expected that Tozer would actually be going with Hickey.

Tozer’s hand on his knee tensed ever so slightly. 

‘Why? Why are you going there with him, of all people? He’s a criminal, he lies to you- he lied to both of us-’

Tozer made a face, and Fitzjames realised that perhaps Tozer knew a fair bit more than he did. So they were not bonded by that. The realisation was mortifying.

‘And you - you’ve invited him regardless?’

‘It’s just, you know. Yeah. I’m not stupid, I know he’s - but it’s different, I told you.’

‘That’s very fucking helpful, thank you.’ He said it with such venom that Tozer seemed shocked, took his hand away and leaned back. Tozer still managed to look casual with it. Fitzjames wished he’d look more shaken, or angry, or anything really. Any acknowledgement would be nice. ‘Why can’t we just go on as we have been?’

‘And how’s that, then? I sit around and wait for you to find someone you want to bring home to mummy and daddy, and then I can fuck off to Blackpool?’

Fitzjames moved away from Tozer, shaken by the sudden bitterness in Tozer’s voice. ‘You know I’m adopted! And my parents are dead. So no.’

‘No, I didn’t know that, did I, because I don’t know anything about you, because you’ve never told me anything.’

‘I thought I had. I wish you’d told me about what was- what’s been bothering you earlier,’  
Fitzjames said lamely. Then he frowned. ‘Wait, you don’t even know Cornelius’ real name, do you? And you’re going to Blackpool with him!’

‘It’s- that’s different.’

Fitzjames resisted saying ‘Yes, it’s worse!’ but it was a close thing. He’d exhausted logic and bargaining and pleading and he knew, deep down, that nothing he said would make a blind bit of difference. The heart wants what it wants - or else it does not care - he thought, quite grimly.

They both watched the trees shake from the wind, reddish in a lovely autumn glow. Fitzjames bit his lip and shifted about on the bench, starting to grow chilly. Neither left.

‘But we did have fun,’ Tozer finally said, and Fitzjames realised those were the words he’d needed to hear. 

‘Yes.’ He sighed. ‘I- we did. I’m glad for that.’ He nodded, for himself as much as Tozer, and when he looked up Tozer did meet his eyes. 

‘I’ll send you a postcard,’ Tozer said.

Fitzjames gave a wan smile. Tozer shuffled a bit closer to him, and held out his hand. He took it. They stayed like that, in something like companionable silence, listening to the rustling and each other’s slow breathing. Tozer’s hand was rough, and warm, and Fitzjames held very tight. At least, he thought, he might now have a breakup story to rival Francis.


	2. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All good things must come to an end, as Crozier finally corners Hickey; scams are unveiled; some decisions have to be made; and restorative trips to the seaside are in order just in time for the weather to get really bad.

**Hastings**

‘Oh God, Francis, I can’t bear to read it.’ Fitzjames threw the postcard on the kitchen table and covered his eyes theatrically. ‘What does it say?’

‘Christ, James, it’s only a postcard. But all right, all right.’ Crozier picked it up - a gaudy picture of Blackpool Tower looking more picturesque than it perhaps did now, in November - and began to read. ‘It says: Having a lovely time. Thought of you. Then there’s some kisses.’

‘How many kisses were there, Francis, you must be exact!’

Crozier tried very hard not to laugh, and settled back down onto their sofa. Even with the cold, the balcony door was open, and beyond the slope of the street and the neat pleasure gardens he could just about see the sea. ‘Two kisses. Ah - P.S. Get checked for chlamydia.’

‘Wait - chlamydia? For God’s sake. Has he given me chlamydia?’

‘You might have given him chlamydia,’ Crozier pointed out. ‘Entirely off the record, of course, but I’m fairly sure Jopson had something after that awful Christmas party you-’

‘I don’t want to remember that.’ Fitzjames lay his head in his hands and then mumbled through them, ‘This is awful. What an awful man. How long… can you have asymptomatic chlamydia for?’

‘What’s that, James? I can’t quite hear you.’ Crozier put his feet up on a stool and lay back. He’d fought tooth and nail against early retirement, but now it’d come for him he found it could have been much worse. Hastings was pretty - James’ incessant moaning was bearable, at worst, and sometimes really quite entertaining - and for the first time in years, he’d no work crises to be preoccupied with.

‘Oh God,’ James said, ‘do you think I ought to throw away that underwear he sent me?’

‘Yes,’ Crozier said, ‘although in the interests of strict accuracy you won’t catch chlamydia from it. But you should throw it away as I don’t know what he did with it and I don’t want to know what you’ve been doing with it.’ He was glad, for the umpteenth time, that there was a sofa bed. And that even on the nights where they’d gotten merry and had a cuddle in James’ room, they’d refrained from making any major mistakes. After this postcard, even moreso. 

‘He wore them, one would hope, Francis. Preferably during a long sweaty game of football.’

‘I-’ Crozier was disgusted, and ever so slightly intrigued. ‘Well, they’ve either got to go in the wash or in the bin. I know you don’t want to, but it has to be done.’

Fitzjames moaned. 

‘Cheer up, James, at least I cancelled your credit card for you.’

‘You did?’ he looked up, in a mixture of relief and disappointment. 

‘I did. No more mystery bills from Blackpool for you. That was outrageous, I’d tell you to prosecute but I know you won’t.’ 

‘I liked knowing what he was doing,’ Fitzjames said, handily omitting the fact that Hickey - or Tozer, come to that - had obviously nicked the card while they’d all been sleeping together, and that the bills had amounted to little more than takeaways, booze, and numerous Boots bills. Whether for suncream or lube - presumably not condoms - Crozier would not dream of guessing.

‘Oh, come here and stop moping. We can go back to the gallery this afternoon, if you like, or go on the funicular railway again.’ Even Crozier had to admit he’d enjoyed that, sitting at the top of the hill overlooking the sea, and laughing when James squealed at the thunk of the car as it’d taken them down again. 

Fitzjames made a noncommittal noise but did come to join him, tossing the postcard on the floor as he did. He tucked himself under a throw and curled up into Crozier’s shoulder. He began to fiddle with his hair, trying to stop it from getting mussed, and Crozier was subject to a strong wave of floral shampoo scent that made him want to sneeze.

‘Will you stop fidgeting, you vain creature,’ he said, fondly.

‘I’m not- I’m at the end of vanity!’ 

‘James, you spent an hour and a quarter in the bathroom this morning and I have to shit at the crack of dawn otherwise I can’t ever get in there… no you’re not.’ 

That finally stilled him. 

‘I’m very glad you came,’ Fitzjames said quietly. ‘Even if I do rather take over the bathroom.’

‘Wouldn’t be the same if you didn’t,’ Crozier said. He was, himself, surprised at how unexpectedly happy he was, in a small, placid way. The consolations of friendship were myriad indeed; more fulfilling, maybe, than what it was supposed to be making up for. With Fitzjames tucked beside him, and the smell of the sea in the air, he wouldn’t rather be anywhere else. He was suddenly quite glad that everything had turned out the way it had, and he hoped that Fitzjames felt similarly.

‘We could venture further afield this afternoon. Let’s drive down to Rye and go to Lamb House, eh? You’ve been wanting to see that since we arrived.’ Crozier kicked the postcard under the sofa and watched James’ eyes light up, all thoughts of Blackpool forgotten.

‘I would like that ever so, Francis.’ 

‘Are you in an Enid Blyton now? I don’t think anyone’s said “ever so” in fifty years.’

‘I thought more Nancy Mitford,’ James said, with a mock pout. ‘I’ve got one by my bed, it’s all I left here to read.’ 

‘We can take in a bookshop,’ Crozier said.

‘Marvellous! Just as long as you don’t make me read any Henry James, I don’t know why you have this mania for reading books just because you’re somewhere their authors lived, or were vaguely associated with in any way.’

Crozier smiled, eagerly anticipating their launching into a long-familiar argument. It would probably carry over into lunch; and the drive along the sands; and then by dinner they would have found something else to argue about. Yes, he thought he was going to enjoy his retirement very much indeed.

**Blackpool**

They nearly always fucked in his room; Hickey had the one across the corridor, but it’d become so cluttered with god-knows-what that it wasn’t often useable. There was often junk in the bed. Even though it was a double, Tozer sometimes suspected Hickey slept on the floor. After a month or so of trying to keep some semblance of order, Tozer just left him to it.

‘How’d you keep this room so neat. You’ve no stuff, it’s weird, and everything’s all in lines. Do you think you have something funny in the head? Is that the army did a number on you, or were you always like that?’

‘Says you, they could film an episode of Hoarders on you.’

Tozer lay back on his crisp sheets, watching the brown patterned curtains flutter in the draught. It hadn’t been done up since some time in the seventies but was still nicer than his old bedsit. And it was by the seaside. The naff decor gave way to a view of the seafront, and he hadn’t yet tired of watching the trams rattle past and the wintery sea crashing against the beach. All in all, he was quite pleased with living in a hotel.

He did jobs about the place; he had his own money, they did his laundry for him even though they weren’t really supposed to, he got his tea and he had a bunch of old ladies gawping at him appreciatively whenever he fixed something. And the manager, who’d been there forty years, even let Hickey have one of the back rooms. It wasn’t like they were ever booked out, even in season. Hickey resented the attention Tozer got but they came as a pair, and nobody asked too many questions about nice Sol Tozer’s slightly less nice friend.

Hickey came to join him on the bed, frowning at the starchy feeling. He spread out, putting his arms behind his head.

‘Like the view?’ Tozer wore only boxers, and he turned to rest on an elbow and smiled, slightly indulgently.

‘Not bad. What happened to those briefs you had? I liked those.’

‘Not sure. I suppose I forgot to pack them,’ Tozer offered, quickly.

‘Shame.’ But before Hickey could enquire further - and Tozer suspected he might - he pulled Hickey on top of him. It did the job; Hickey smiled and squirmed a bit and finally gave in. 

‘Whole of Blackpool can see you,’ he said, between kisses.

‘Jealous little thing, aren’t you,’ Tozer said, grinning.

Hickey only huffed and moved his body flush against Tozer, getting his legs either side of Tozer’s and pressing himself close. He kissed and nipped at Tozer’s ear, his neck. ‘Steady,’ he said, when Tozer started grinding up onto him. ‘Do you want to fuck me?’ 

‘What?’ Tozer said, startled. They’d done it like that a few times before, at the beginning, but  
Hickey had made it clear what he preferred.

‘Oh, well, if you don’t fancy it -’

‘Hang on, hang on,’ he said hurriedly. He had to pull away from Hickey’s insistent kissing just to think straight. ‘Yes, I want to, bloody hell.’ Hickey was laughing at him, really giggling.

‘All right then,’ Hickey said, between giggles. ‘You are funny, Sol.’ He said it with such genuine fondness that Tozer had to take it as a compliment, even though it didn’t sound like one.

They tangled and kissed a little longer, Tozer getting his hand up underneath Hickey’s t-shirt and caressing his narrow ribs, then lower. He slipped his hand down the back of Hickey’s jogging bottoms to get a handful of Hickey’s arse, and found to his delight that Hickey hadn’t been wearing any pants. He could feel it, anyway, Hickey’s filling cock trapped against his thigh. He pulled Hickey close as Hickey kissed down his chest, then sat up to take off his shirt. 

He had always loved Hickey’s body, little and solid as it was, and ran his hands down Hickey’s chest. ‘Are you sure?’ he said, then could have kicked himself.

‘Do you not want to? Because I can-’ Hickey made to up and leave, grinning the whole while. 

‘No, no!’ Tozer held him tighter at the hip, where his waist curved just a little. ‘You tease.’ He was well and truly hard now, could see Hickey was too, cock curved up against his belly. Tozer slid his hand under the waistband and grasped at it, feeling Hickey jolt against him and give a very small gasp. He liked eliciting those sounds from Hickey - the ones that were unpracticed, that he seemed like he was trying to keep in. Hickey’s cock was leaking at the tip and Tozer ran his thumb over it, pulling him off. 

‘Want to - want to get me ready,’ Hickey asked, distracted and a little breathy.

‘Yeah.’ Tozer considered. ‘Do I have to get up?’

‘God-’ Hickey said, before Tozer grasped at him particularly hard and he made a startled little moan. ‘I’m surprised - you ever manage to get yourself off - you’re that lazy with it. Fix an old lady’s tap but you won’t get up for- mmph.’ Tozer had started to kiss and bite at Hickey’s neck, which conveniently shut him up. 

‘I’m touching your cock, aren’t I?’ Tozer moved his hand further back to slide against Hickey’s taint, and moved a wet finger to rest up against his hole. He could feel Hickey’s eyelashes fluttering against his skin as he rested his forehead against Tozer’s cheek. ‘Touching you here, too.’

‘Yeah,’ Hickey said. ‘And you won’t do much more than touching unless you get us some lube.’

Tozer almost asked why Hickey couldn’t fetch it, but thought that might be pushing his luck. He batted ineffectually at the bedside table, finally managing to get one of the drawers open and the lube out. One handed it was a struggle - he wasn’t as dexterous as Hickey, but Hickey didn’t help. ‘Let’s see you open up for me,’ he said.

Hickey moved around, managing to sit uncomfortably heavily on one of Tozer’s balls as he shifted to grab the lube. He sat up, giving Tozer a look somewhere between scathing and fond. Then he wriggled out of his jogging bottoms, giving Tozer a nice eyeful of his round little arse. Wasn’t half bad. Tozer was quite looking forward to it, now, and he gave it a slap, watched it bounce as Hickey scowled at him.

‘Don’t you fucking dare,’ he said. ‘I’ll spank _you_.’

Tozer tried and failed to look repentant, put his palm instead up against Hickey’s chest and stroked at it, feeling scanty gingerish hair soft under the pads of his fingers. The idea of being hit simultaneously thrilled him and made him feel a bit ashamed. He was minded of some night with Fitzjames in London, ages ago now, they must’ve talked about it. For a minute he felt almost maudlin. But the noise of Hickey grunting and the slick sound of him opening himself up brought Tozer back, and he thought little more on it. 

Hickey’s eyes were open and alarmingly focused, considering, and he stared straight at Tozer as he worked one hand behind himself. It felt almost like a challenge. 

Tozer’s own cock rested heavy against his stomach, nestled under Hickey’s body. He supposed it might be too much to ask Hickey to touch him as well.

‘Want me to ride you?’ Hickey said, breathless. ‘Want me to sit on that fat cock?’

‘God, yes, please,’ Tozer said, much too fast.

Hickey grinned at him - not his usual sardonic one, but like he was trying to stop himself and couldn’t help it - like he was actually very pleased - and shuffled on top of Tozer. Their legs were touching and he could feel Hickey tensing with the effort, skin hot and sweaty.

‘Oh, fuck,’ he said, as Hickey sank down slowly on top of him. ‘Oh, fuck.’

Hickey rested a sticky hand on Tozer’s shoulder and closed his eyes. Oh, he’d missed this. He could feel Hickey tight around him, breathing very hard and still adjusting to the feeling. Then Hickey started to move, slow at first. Christ - it took some restraint not to grab him and give him a little help, sit him down fully. Tozer settled for thrusting up a little with his hips, watching Hickey’s face, mouth open a little. Soon Hickey got more comfortable and began to move more, bent his face to Tozer’s for a kiss.

‘Now,’ he said, narrowing his eyes, ‘do you think you can last long enough to -’

‘Oh, shut up,’ Tozer said, laughing, and pulled Hickey down so they were flush chest-to-chest. 

Hickey gave a little choked-off whine as Tozer ran his hands over his back, holding him tightly, and buried his face in Tozer’s shoulder. His prick leaked onto Tozer’s belly, caught between them. At every movement Tozer made he panted against Tozer’s skin, and Tozer took that as a good sign, held him more firmly at the hips and fucked him harder. He worried for a minute that he’d leave thumb-shaped bruises and then he thought about the bite marks Hickey left all over him and decided he didn’t much care. 

For a while he couldn’t think of anything but the heat where their bodies met, the wetness where Hickey was sucking a bruise into his neck and the feel of his skin. He fucked Hickey so hard his legs began to ache and then harder - he was almost beginning to flag when Hickey started making muffled noises, dug into the skin of Tozer’s arm with his nails.

‘I’m gonna- yeah, like that, yeah-’ and Hickey tightened around him, spent between their stomachs. He held on for a bit longer, heat pooling at the pit of his stomach, didn’t want the feeling of Hickey around him to end, but the thought of coming inside him was too much. He groaned, couldn’t help it although he knew it sounded ugly, clutched at Hickey’s waist. ‘Fuck. I can’t, I’m gonna -’

‘Do it,’ Hickey said, ‘I want to feel it.’

He couldn’t stop himself then - he came inside Hickey in a rush of pleasure. It felt truly satisfying; and afterwards he flopped back, exhausted.

Hickey lay on top of him and he could feel his chest moving where Hickey pressed down on it, feel the stickiness between them running off his stomach and onto the sheets. The feel of Hickey around him as he softened started to get uncomfortable and he lifted him off and pushed him over onto the bed, despite his protests.

Hickey gave him a withering look, made a sleepy attempt to reach for some tissues - aborted when he couldn’t find any - and then settled back onto the sheets. He turned away from Tozer and curled up, and Tozer could see his own spend seeping out down Hickey’s thighs. It was strangely alluring, certainly satisfying. He thought about making him get up and taking a shower together, but was drifting off himself. Before he fell asleep he could hear Hickey next to him starting to snore. They were little snuffles, like a very sweet little pig. Normally Tozer might push him around a bit to get him to stop, but now it was oddly endearing. He slung an arm around Hickey’s waist and settled up behind him. They slept like that, snores mingling with the sound of the traffic below.

Later, on the seafront, Tozer sneaked a glance over at Hickey, who was staring at his ice cream cone with intense concentration. ‘You’re supposed to eat it,’ he said, fond. ‘Look, it’s melting all down the side.’

‘I _know_. It’s just-’ Hickey looked at it, with some trepidation. 

‘You ever had one before?’ he teased.

‘Yes. Obviously. Obviously I have.’

‘Oh my god, you haven’t. You’ve never had one? Ever? You must have.’

‘I don’t like sweets, I’m not a baby.’ But he licked at the side where the it was melting, tongue intent, and seemed to like it.

‘Yeah, but come on, not even as a kid?’

‘Fuck off,’ Hickey said, around a mouthful of soft ice cream. He looked shocked and upset as a kid, though, when it blew off onto the ground in a strong gust of wind - not before spattering on Tozer’s jeans.

Tozer had never seen Hickey upset, not really. His eyes widened and his mouth tightened and he flushed a bit red. ‘It wasn’t my fault.’

‘Would you - would you like me to get you another?’

‘Yes - please.’ It was, Tozer would bet good money, the first time Hickey had said please outside of sex.

Tozer wiped the ice-cream off his leg with the napkin that’d been wrapped around his own and stared out at the sea. High wind was whipping the sand up into their faces a bit, and he thought it looked like rain later.

‘You’re glad I came, aren’t you?’ Hickey said, suddenly. ‘Better than Hastings?’

Tozer shrugged. ‘Yeah, you’re all right, when you’re not fucking about and just let me get on with it. You know James used to send night courses and Open University links to me? At least you don’t do stuff like that, bloody hell.’ He felt a bit mean sharing that with Hickey, but then - it had always got on his nerves.

Hickey grinned. ‘Knew it. How about that ice cream, then?’

They ambled to their feet, Hickey a little unsteady. Tozer gathered up the empty cans of Stella they’d had - Hickey had only had two - and binned them. ‘Hey, forget Hastings, you ever been to Formby?’

‘No. Maybe you’ll take me.’ Hickey came and took Tozer’s arm, uncharacteristically tender. Also, uncharacteristically tipsy.

Tozer rolled his eyes as they meandered up towards the ice cream van. ‘Wouldn’t suggest it otherwise, would I. It’s pretty, and it won’t be too jammed this time of year. We should go soon. I remember liking it a lot, when I was last there.’

‘Sounds nice.’ The wind had tangled Hickey’s hair and he looked younger, less pinched. Almost merry. The alcohol and sugar did him good, Tozer thought. 

They looked up at Blackpool Tower, reddish and poking up across the skyline. View must be good from up there. Tozer was about to suggest they go when Hickey said, ‘Looks fun up there. Heard they do weddings, right at the top.’

Tozer would’ve thought it almost romantic, if he hadn’t caught Hickey on his laptop a few weeks prior looking up armed forces spousal pensions. 

‘If you’re planning to marry me and get hold of my pension you’ll have to work harder than that,’ he said.

Hickey frowned. ‘I do… enjoy your company, you know. Sometimes.’

It lacked the usual elaborate bite of Hickey’s sentences, and Tozer turned to him. Perhaps it was the most genuine thing he’d ever said. He squeezed Hickey’s hand.

‘Urgh, your hands are all sweaty,’ Hickey said, shaking him off. After a pause, he said, ‘This is really normal, isn’t it? Like a normal seaside day to you?’

‘Cornelius, we’re two men in our thirties living in a hotel in Blackpool, and you’re living under an assumed name with no ID, and you’ve apparently just had ice cream for the first time. I wouldn’t say it was normal, no. And it’s “day at the seaside”, not “seaside day”.’

Hickey pouted. ‘Yeah, all right, no need to be mean about it.’ But soon he gave Tozer a little grin, and Tozer slung an arm around his shoulders. ‘Now, are you going to get me another ice cream or what?’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For everything there is a season; and inevitably rat girl summer turns to rat young woman autumn. Just in time for us to start work on a Christmas treat. Thanks so much for reading!
> 
> One of us is on [tumblr](https://roaringgirl.tumblr.com) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/Milk__punch)


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